


the beginning and the end of everything

by everybodyknowseverybodydies



Category: ER (TV 1994)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, basically just some exploring how Cordano became friends??, they snarked their way into each other's hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodyknowseverybodydies/pseuds/everybodyknowseverybodydies
Summary: He always said her name the same way to get her attention, the funny little American man.





	the beginning and the end of everything

**Author's Note:**

> I started this ages ago and then yesterday was slapped in the face with some very intense feelings about ER so I dug this out and finished it instead of studying for comps (whoops). Now I can say I added something new to the ER tag for the first time in a long while!

“Lizzie!”

He always said her name the same way to get her attention, the funny little American man. She stopped, spinning around and folding her arms expectantly, eyebrows lifted. “Elizabeth,” she corrected, “and that’s actually Miss Corday, if you don’t mind—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved a dismissive hand and cocked his head with a grin. “You wanna scrub in with me?”

“I’m scheduled for an appendectomy in ten minutes,” Elizabeth said, squinting at him.

“Boring. There’ll always be another appy.”

“You haven’t even told me what you have—” She glanced down at his name tag pointedly. “—Rocket, and I really can’t miss this.”

Rocket sniffed and rocked back on his heels, hands thrust into the pockets of his white coat. “Well, Miss Corday,” he said, like he was about to share the world’s greatest, most important secret, “have you ever done an endoscopic thoracic sympathectomy?”

She hadn’t. “The chief isn’t going to want me to hand off a surgery he specifically assigned to me, no matter how _boring_.” If she were being honest, so far he had only assigned her to the minor, dull procedures. Even the damn interns got to observe procedures she’d only heard about secondhand, and they could hardly tell a scalpel from a bone chisel half the time.

It was getting to be rather frustrating.

“Psh. He’s a stuffy old hack who can shove it.”

“He’s my father,” she said dryly, the corners of her mouth twitching in faint amusement.

“…which, uh, in America actually means—oh, whatever, are you coming or not?” He was looking at her with his eyebrows raised, dark eyes bright. “I can always find someone else if you aren’t interested.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Give me two minutes to find someone to take the appy.”

Rocket nodded, his grin self-assured before he reined it back in, clearing his throat. “You’ve got ninety seconds or I’m asking what’s-his-face, the tall one with the dark hair and the tiny voice.”

“ _Jeremy_?”

His sudden disinterest was feigned. With a shrug, he turned on one heel to go. “You better hurry then. Sixty seconds.”

She grabbed Daniel by the arm as he passed. “Get my appy,” she hissed, “and I’ll owe you one.”

“What? I’m not doing an appy, it’s my lunch break,” Daniel began, but Elizabeth had already pushed him away and was hurrying down the hall.

“I’ll buy you dinner sometime,” she called over her shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel!”

Rocket was already scrubbing when she got there. “Lizzie. You’re five seconds late,” he said, not looking up.

“Elizabeth— _Miss Corday_ ,” she huffed, “and I am _not_ late.”

He looked up, and the smirk that tugged at his lips was difficult to read. “Get scrubbing, then.”

 

It was difficult to say why Romano had taken a shine to her—well, no, it wasn’t; that was a lie. Actually there were a few reasons. She was a phenomenal surgeon, intuitive, precise, with steady hands and unerring focus. He’d asked the old man why she wasn’t on any of the bigger operations, guessing something had gone horribly wrong and she was on probation or something, but the chief had shrugged with a polite smile. “Yes, I do think she’s quite talented, Rocket,” he had agreed, “but you know how it is. The boys just don’t know what to do with her in there.”

Well, he could understand that, and there was another reason. She was almost painfully gorgeous, all Titian curls and big blue eyes, sharp-witted and a little too quick to toss barbs for most. The rest of them just smiled thinly when he needled them, and they shut down too fast for it to be any fun. She gave back whatever she got.

“Is all that hair blocking your vision?” he’d snarked once when she’d been having a hard time with a particularly thin-veined patient.

“Oh, I’m sorry, can you not see over the table?” she’d shot back without sparing him a glance.

The other surgeons in the room had smiled again, hyper-polite and reserved.

That was nice too. Everybody smiled so much; it had actually been refreshing when she’d tripped over him in the hallway, hit the floor with a BANG, and given him a scathing glare from the floor, gathering up the paperwork she’d spilled. “Is it so difficult to watch where you’re going, or are you playing human tenpin?”

She had the best scowl he had ever seen. He was elated. “Ah! You British _are_ human! I was beginning to think I’d started work somewhere they hired robots instead of people.”

“This is Elizabeth,” the old man had said apologetically. “She’s a resident, and she didn’t mean that, Rocket; she’s on a thirty-six-hour shift.”

“I’m on hour two and I absolutely did mean it.” She stood and caught the old man’s eye, then muttered an insincere apology.

“Thank you, Lizzie,” he said, lifting his chin. “I’ll try not to let my feelings be too hurt.”

Her scowl deepened. “Is ‘Elizabeth’ too many syllables for you?” she snapped, and it was all he could do not to beam.

 

He wasn’t so bad as the others seemed to think, really. Elizabeth kind of liked the verbal sparring, and more than once he’d gotten her in on a procedure she wouldn't have otherwise gotten to do. That plus the coffee break banter meant that they were quantifiably friends, at least by British standards. Work friends, but that counted, she thought.

“…so the gloves really do help for more than keeping your hands clean,” Rocket raised his eyebrows as he lifted the paper cup of coffee to his mouth. “Teeth still leave bite marks through them though.”

She rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’m sure you deserved it.” Tossing her empty cup in the bin, she folded her arms. “Forgive me if this is… untoward, but why do you call yourself ‘Rocket’? Where did that come from?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at her with half a smile, and cocked his head thoughtfully. “What do you think, Lizzie?”

It was unusual. Normally he met questions with something irreverent and clever, never completely serious, regardless of the question: personal, professional, whatever. She’d already tilted her head to mirror him before she realized it. “Your cap,” she said. “With all the little rockets on it. I’d wondered which came first, the cap or the name, but—the cap.”

Rocket swirled the coffee left in his paper cup with a sense of drama. “Maybe so.” He drained the last of the drink and then said, “Have you ever thought about spending some time in America?”

“What?” She stared back at him. “Have I—what do you mean?”

“You know, working. Getting some experience outside of Daddy’s hospital.” He must have seen her bristle at that, because he moved as if he were going to touch her shoulder, then dropped his hand again at the last second. “Lizzie Corday, internationally-acclaimed surgeon. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“Your healthcare system is an embarrassment.”

“It’d be better with you in it.” Rocket shrugged and started off. “Just think about it,” he called back over his shoulder.

America. It would be nice, going somewhere where she could be unassociated with her father. And it was stifling here, being swept to the side as the boys’ club got all the interesting cases.

She could think about it, at least.


End file.
